“The Batonga tell,” said he, “of a range of mountains to the northward and eastward, called ‘Gorongoza.’”
“It is not the place we seek. Gorongoza is known to the Portuguese.”
“The white chief seeks the broken stone huts,” replied Masheesh, “and the Batonga tell of graves marked by stones lying on the mountain range of Gorongoza.”
“And do not they know of others?” asked the missionary.
“Yes,” replied the chief; “far to the eastward. Near the mouth of the river lie ruins, looking over the big water; it is from these that the stone which my father holds in his hand came.”
Wyzinski stooped over the fire and carefully examined the fragment. That it had been carved was evident, but it was so broken and defaced that he could make nothing of it. The chief continued—
“These ruins by the big water the Batonga call ‘Sofala,’ but to the northward and westward lies a large kraal. It is some days’ journey from Sofala and Gorongoza. Near Manica lie great forests of strange trees, and among those trees lie broken stone huts. In the mountains are caves, where the leopards and the lions hide. The white chief may leave his life there, but he will not see them. The broken huts are sacred, and if the stranger saw them no rain would fall in the country for three years.”
The voices of the speakers as they conversed eagerly together, with the wail of the jackals and hyenas, the barking of the foxes, the snort of the hippopotami on the river bank, broke the silence of the starlight night. The blaze occasionally flared up, and then died away, lighting up all to within a certain radius.
Luji was just finishing his squirrel, and Hughes had put his rifle together and was trying the lock, when a tremendous roar, apparently close to, startled all, and the flickering blaze of the firelight danced for an instant on the dark hide of a lion, as he dashed past, the next moment passing through the midst of the astonished group, bearing with him the carcass of an eland that day shot.
The night was dark, the country unknown; dense thickets existed on the banks of the river,—and so heaping fresh wood on the fire, the whole camp was soon fast asleep, the task of following up the spoor of the lion being deferred till the next morning.